The rain drizzled on and on, as if it would never stop. The muggy, sweltering moisture steamed into clusters of mist beneath the scattering fine rain, rising through the valley's dense woods, spreading among the weeds and shrubs, then turning into wisps of smoke near the Mountain Pavilion. They danced into runes, unfolding the vastness of heaven and earth and displaying the long passage of time.
Yuan Huazi watched intently as well, committing everything to memory and striving to gain some insight from this phenomenon of heaven and earth. Yet these runes lay far beyond his understanding. Duan He Quan's hand holding the script suddenly loosened, and it fell to the floor with a slap, the sound barging into Zheng Hairi's mind.
With Ye Wudao yielding vaguely and deliberately, Nangong Lunhui finally demonstrated the entire Great Dao Samsara sword technique. Everyone knew that victory or defeat would be decided by the final sword strike.
Following Ye Wudao's movements, everyone rose of their own accord and bowed with him. At last, the memorial service had a little of the atmosphere of a memorial service. Casting aside pleasantries, deceitful scheming, and hidden plots, they bent at the waist and bowed three times to someone they did not even know.
The man walked over and sat opposite the two of them. A slow, gentle smile rested on his face, yet it carried a chill that pierced to the marrow. They could feel it; even the room itself seemed to feel that coldness. The air abruptly turned frigid.
"But there's no problem if you don't leave now. From the looks of it, this place of yours should be able to hold out for a long time," Wallace said.
Aboard the Pangu battleship, Fleet Commander Admiral Lin Jianzhang had already left the command tower and